Upon visitation, you might be thinking to yourself: "Why, this blog looks different than the last time I was here," and the answer to that is you would be correct. You might have thought: "I don't remember what it looked like last time, but I'm certain it looks the same - in fact, since I did not notice change, I should not be having this thought whatsoever," and I say to that, I'll permit it. A similar thought might be: "This is my first visit, and its aestethic is pleasing," and I will answer yes, it is, but shame on you for never visiting before. Or, of course, you might now be thinking: "This opening paragraph is making me want to punch Matt in the face," and I hope this is thought has never crossed your mind before just now.
I grew tired with looking at the same old, and as I usually hope with visual overhauls (always minor and largely insignificant), I hope I get back into posting as much as I once did. Or at least regain some sort of precedence of quality, because this just isn't.
To describe my day - and this might not actually be relevant to what I'll continue to write about, but bear with me - I would say that I was on a bit of a roller coaster. Of emotion. But as much as roller coasters are fun, my day was charged with anger. I failed a road test this morning, and I'll promise this is a final rant about the topic, at least until you either a) see me in person, b) read an inevitable drunk and irate blog post, or the rarest of the three, c) see me in person while I'm drunk and irate, and I'm sorry to some people in my life because it will happen on Saturday. I understand that since my last test (and lessons) I've adapted a handful of bad driving habits: maybe I don't always shoulder check, or use my signals, or follow the speed limits, really. But I knew leading up to my test, I've been catching myself, and I know for a fact how I drove during my test was good. Not great, but good - I'm alive, the drive tester is alive (and if he's not it was by my hand and my car was not a factor), and I abided by the rules like glue. And yet, I failed. I failed because my idiotic minor mistakes piled up - again, I understand the importance of following the rules of the road, and I did, but I'm human, and I was in a pressured situation. Regardless: oh, no, I didn't check my right mirror on step two of the three point turn! God, I looked left and right, but not left again! I couldn't contort my arms so call the priest! my hand came off the wheel on one or two turns! I went over the speed limit by five kilometers an hour while driving up a hill! I'm just irritated. Irritated because I know I'm a good driver, but I know I was put under the heaviest observation and scrutiny possible. Irritated because I failed, and I'm not used to failure. (see: most previous post about my unemployment) Extremely frustrated, stressed and panicked because my license is to expire in two months, and the earliest test I could book is in three weeks, so god forbid I fail again - will I have time to book it again?
Enough about that. I know exactly where the test score sheet is in my house, and it's taunting me, but enough about that. No, my point of writing was to capture in words a sort of summer syllabus, and I guess thinking about it now my still nonexistent G license will become relevant in the sense that I need to get it this summer.
That's a good starting point, then: I hope to get my G license this summer before my license expires on me and I start all over again. I can't picture my life without a license, though I'm certain I'd probably still drive around and evade the police.
I need to go to Wonderland. I never did last summer, and it disappointed me. Now that there's this new colossus of a roller coaster, I need to be front seat on that thing.
I always say this, but I hope to pick up on my writing again. In the past few months I've started two entire projects (in addition to the three still handing in the air unfinished) with this bursting sense of excitement to write about that, without fail, fizzled out within days. It's not that I don't want to write. It's just that I start these things without any thought of a possible ending, and while I want to force myself to continue on with writing these characters who I think will be interesting or intriguing, I can't bring myself to do it. It's a conundrum, really: I can't explicitly plan out an entire story, so I write; and yet, I can't write without a plan. I don't know, I confuse myself. At least I'm writing now.
God, gift me with new television to watch. I've recently gone crazy for 30 Rock and Tina Fey, but as I just began the fifth season today - and as I started the entire series probably about a week and a half ago, but I might be kidding myself from the truth of really starting a week ago - I'm going to need more TV to occupy myself. Breaking Bad has been sitting on my 'to-watch' list for a very long time, as is Six Feet Under. I suppose in a similar vein, I'm excited for the summer movie season, what with The Avengers next week and that Spider-Man reboot I keep forgetting about and scoffing at even though I'll see it anyways. Then there's The Dark Knight Rises which will completely end my life, and Snow White and the Huntsman which looks unbelievable, and Prometheus with a very beautiful cast and a very beautiful Fassbender. (truth is truth, he's my man)
As completely reverse to being serious, I can't wait to be drunk 80% of my time. That's a stretch, as alcohol does cost money, and I will have to work this summer at that job I didn't really want to return to. I can already visualize the summer days in backyards with beer and best friends. (I've been called an alcoholic enough that I might as well play into it. I'm a fun drunk, and I'd drink with me)
To be serious, then, I want to get healthy. I can't quite see giving up the goodies, but I know I'm joining a gym with someone who will definitely kick my ass, and I'm excited.
It should be a good summer.